The Holder of Lost Possibilities

Sit down at any restaurant, in any city, at any time, and order "the Holder of Lost Possibilities". One by one, other customers will finish their meals and leave. No new customers will enter the restaurant. When you are finally alone, a pale, fat chef will bring you an ornate silver platter. He is always the same man in a classic chef outfit regardless of where you are eating, tears streaming down his face as he lays your meal in front of you.

Do not order a beverage, and do not accept offers for any other food, or he will bring you the flesh and fluids of someone you love, and you alone will remember that he or she ever existed.

Your meal is a membranous sac of thick, gelatinous pus containing a fat, writhing human fetus, the Holder of Lost Possibilities. Its taste is horrendous, and the moment it is cut, it emits a single, continuous scream of indescribable terror and agony. The sound causes stabbing pain behind your eyes and overwhelming nausea, but will not end until you have consumed every trace of the creature. Devour its brittle bones, lick clean your plate and your utensils, and do not dare spill a drop, or you will hear only the torturous scream for the rest of your life and an empty, abyssal eternity thereafter.

When the chef comes to collect the empty platter, look him in the eyes and ask, "What could have been?" The chef will tell you of things both hideous and wonderful that will never come to pass, tales that have driven other Seekers to suicidal despair. He will drone on for hours, but speak any other word or make any motion to leave and you will awaken as the new Holder to be eaten by the next Seeker. When his rambling is finished, he will bill you $0.00. Do not call attention to this peculiarity, do not tip, and most importantly, do not sign your name. Business will return to normal as you wait silently for staff to collect the check and return with your receipt.

This receipt is Object 623 of 2538. Lose this slip of paper, and you will have never been born.